


Death Doesn't Mean Gone.

by JensenDurin



Series: The Archangels Creation [1]
Category: Being Human (UK), Supernatural
Genre: and around season five of supernatural, i'll add tags at a later time, takes place after mitchell dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:51:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22235641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JensenDurin/pseuds/JensenDurin
Summary: John Mitchell knew the roles of death, knew what waited for him when the stake struck his chest. He was prepared for the men with sticks and ropes, was ready for whatever was waiting for him beyond the twisted and mangled wood that was his door. Although, when was anything ever that simple for him. Death was laughing.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, John Mitchell & Annie Sawyer, John Mitchell & ArchAngels ( Spn ), John Mitchell & George Sands, Nina Pickering/George Sands, Sam Winchester & Castiel
Series: The Archangels Creation [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1613809
Comments: 13
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter One.

Death had been a constant figure within his life, watching him throughout his life as tragedy struck relentless, watching him as a young boy lay his father in the cold ground when the fishermans body washed onto the beach after a storm capsized his boat, Death had been close witnessing the decaying health of his mother as her sickness grew worse day by day. He had been there among the trenches when gun fire showered upon men bringing their too short lives to an end, he was beside Mitchell when he struck up a deal with a devil in hopes of saving his brothers in arms from a fate worse than gunfire. No matter the choices in his life, Death was always three paces behind him, watching with a careful glance and a soft smile as souls flooded forth from the deceased that poured from his hands. 

Mitchell knew how close Donn stayed. The icy tendrils that would sweep over him as the life drained from his victims alongside the blood that he craved, caressing him as the soul was guided towards their door. To the peaceful afterlife that they might be granted or the burning hell that awaited them. Never once did Death stick around to coax him through the door, never once has Mitchell seen the entity cloaked in dark robes, not when he died among the trenches or when the souls walked through their door. It wasn’t fair. Every time he ever got close to the other side, no one came to guide him to the hell that he was waiting for him, no one guided him to the men with sticks and ropes..something keeping him the peace that he sought. It was cruel the amount of times Donn would tease him, the cold hands of Death grasping at him before they would vanish and he was back to the pain of the world that he was stuck in. 

Although, there was no teasing this time. No way for Donn to back away from him. Not now, not when George had taken his plea to heart and shot the wolf shaped bullet into his heart. The distant thud echoing through the room sending them all into silence, and the shock that he felt as gaze flickered to the wooden stake piercing his chest. Relief flushed through him, a sense of exhaustion crashing over him as a gasping chuckle escaped him. There wasn’t room for teasing, and as Mitchell whispered his farewells to his friends, his barely functioning organs finally failing, his skin cracking and splitting forth from his bones and muscles turning a dark black, Mitchell prepared himself for the next step. 

He didn’t feel himself crumble to ash, didn’t see the rest of what would happen in that room, instead his world crumbled around him leaving him in the dark, a void that went on with nothing in sight and Mitchell waited. 

The Men with Sticks and Ropes would be upon him any minute to drag him to the hell that awaited him, to the souls that waited to punish him for taking their lives and Mitchell was content with the fact. He deserved it, he was a monster, a disease that contaminated everything that he ever got within distance in. Look at what happened with Josie, with Annie and George...the countless people that he slaughtered in a world that struggled to keep beauty. He was a darkness that made the world no brighter than what it was capable of. A breath is taken, eyes glancing around for his door, but nothing appeared, and a spike of fear hit him. Was this his hell? The blackness. To be left alone for the rest of his life, if that was what the world wanted than Mitchell wouldn’t argue with it. 

“It is finally good to meet you John Mitchell.” a voice breaks through the void, snapping him from his thoughts as head swivels to see a sickly elderly man standing there, hands clasped behind him as a look of nonchalant amusement escaped him. “You have been avoiding our meeting a few times now, although, God always seems to have something planned.” 

“Donn?” word is tentative, confusion clear to even his ears as he stands still, unsure what to truly say...was this Death? Was the void that he had been placed in not his true hell... “I haven’t been avoiding anything!” 

A soft snort escapes from the man, steps not heard as he walks forwards, hands gesturing out in a swipe, “You weren’t ready, your urge for your friends clear and it wasn’t your time but you never stuck around to chat, which is very rude, and you can call me Donn...I have many names, many shapes and much to do so we will have to make this quick.” 

“Stop. What are we making quick? Just take me to my door and let the men with sticks and ropes drag me off! I’m dead! Just let me get to my hell.” He’s restless, anger bubbling as he stares at Donn with wide eyes, why was this happening, why wasn’t his door here if Death was here...he’s exhausted despite the peacefulness that warms through his body, just wanting to rest finally after the life that he lived. Standing tall Mitchell stares, brows furrowing more as he watches Death sigh softly, annoyance clear. 

Another step is taken and Mitchell realizes how close they are, “Your door is not coming. Those beasts will not be dragging you to purgatory….you have much more you are needed for John Mitchell, I do not mess with the plans of your father even if they are messy and leaves me working more.” 

What. No..Mitchell shakes his head, step back being taken, that wasn’t what he wanted. He was dead. George staked him and he was finally supposed to get the rest that was waiting for him, the justice that the many souls wished for...they were waiting and Mitchell was finally ready to face them once again. Why couldn’t he just die?! Mouth falls dry as anger boils within his veins, what made him so fucking special that he was able to keep going back to the world as if he wasn’t a plague, something that many other people yearned for, people who truly fucking deserved the countless chances of life. Teeth grinds as harsh laugh slips forth. 

“Why me?! I am fucking fine with dying! I deserve it, I’m a plague, I’ve killed thousands why the fuck is God deciding that I need another god damn chance. I don’t want it!” 

“I’m afraid that you don’t have a choice. Just because you are dead doesn’t mean you are gone. You play a big part in something John. Perhaps this is the chance that you need.” 

A coldness sweeps forth, the scent of sea salt and fresh rain upon an open field assaults him, the scent of his childhood home and Mitchell turns his head seeing a door waiting for him, it wasn’t the one that he had seen the first time that he had died within war, this was something else. He takes another step back, stomach twisting. He didn’t want another chance, he didn’t want to go back to ireland and ruin George, Annies or Nina’s lives again, to be dragged away to become some guard dog for some pompous old one. What chance was this going to be, some stupid attempt of taming something you couldn’t? 

“It is time to go John. We’ll see each other again I am sure.” 

The door swings open the smell of his childhood stronger, a soft gust of wind washing over him and Mitchell knew this was some stupid attempt at calming him down, that this was to keep an already hostile person from breaking further and Mitchell turns, prepared to beg for the afterlife that he yearned for but Donn was gone. All that was there was nothing, him and the door that beckoned him to walk through. Stomach rolls, he didn’t want this but Mitchell found himself walking towards the door anyway, staring at the dark oak, the shine reflecting his appearance and he finally stepped through. Death and God seemed to like jerking him around and Mitchell was growing sick of it, but there was nothing he could do. Stand in that void until he finally broke and walked through like a wounded dog? He had more dignity than that.

\----

As soon as his foot touched ground Mitchell lurches forward, heaving as his stomach empties itself, black ash and blood spilling from his lips onto the gravel as his body shudders. The door behind him gone, the scent of his childhood disappearing and what is left is the stench of motor oil, rusted cars and the country. Sadly, he doesn’t get to see where he had landed considering his back is colliding against the hard ground, a grunt escaping him as someone pins him to the ground, a blade being pressed to his throat. 

“Who the fuck are you buddy?” a gruff voice catches attention and Mitchell is staring up at a male with short dirty blonde hair, freckles and piercing green eyes, the blade in his hand ornate almost, movement catches attention and he’s staring to the side to see another male with long hair standing behind the shorter one. 

“Mitchell. Who the bloody fuck are you?!” he wheezes out, winded, hands going up in a term of peace.


	2. Chapter 2

Rough introductions had been given, Mitchell more so interrogated than any greeting he ever had the pleasure of being given. Question after question was snapped at him, the knife leaving his throat as he answered them to the best of his ability. Who was he? John Mitchell. What did he want? He wasn’t sure considering everything, death was still a yearning though. How did he get there? He wasn’t really sure, other than the door had spat him out here when he walked through. What was he? 

That had been a good question, one that had him hesitating in responding due to the whole situation, the two before him were obviously hunters, humans that took it upon themselves to slaughter any monster that came their way and they didn’t seem exactly the friendliest or dumbest of hunters that had crossed his path before. Mitchell would have simply explained to them that he was a vampire, have them stake him or behead him and send him back to wherever he was supposed to go, hopefully a place that wouldn’t spit him back out into a world...but he didn’t. Mouth goes dry, stomach rolling still as the thumping in his chest grew louder, a heart beat. Something that shouldn’t have been thumping away between his ribs. His heart had died out the moment Herrick had made him his attack dog, his organs barely functioning considering he was dead but he could feel the blood rushing through his veins, his heartbeat erratic as confusion and fear pulsed through him. 

What was he? Mitchell didn’t know. Not anymore and the answer wasn’t received lightly as he was hauled up onto feet, the world turning forcing him to stumble forward until he arm was held fast and he was lead towards some house. Gaze flickers towards the looming piles of scrap metal, a scrap yard was where the door had lead him, but his attention flickers back to the beat of his heart, almost pleased that he could hear it rather than the silence he was ever so used to. Perhaps this was the chance that Donn had been saying? He was human again, well, he appeared to be human again and that left some hope within his chest that perhaps this chance would be a lot better. 

“What the hell?!” He sputters as he’s shoved into a chair, water being splashed in his face leaving him soaked as his shirt absorbs with the water and brown eyes snap up to glare, “is this how you treat all bloody fucking strangers? Tackle them, press a fucking knife to their throat and than interrogate them before deciding to drag them to some house and soak them?” 

“Listen buddy, you appeared out of fucking nowhere in our back yard, which isn’t fucking normal.” the shorter males voice replied, the guy walking up towards him with a blade that held some intricate symbols before his hand is being grabbed and the blade slicing his skin. A hiss came from clenched lips, hand curling shut as warm crimson bubbled to the surface and Mitchell cussed again. “He isn’t a demon, shapeshifter or anything affected by silver and holy water...an angel maybe but I’m sure Castiel would have shown up if he was.” 

Eyebrows raise slightly at that, shooting the two men looks before he’s staring at his soaked clothes, that hope bubbling forth more at the fact that holy water didn’t seem to do anything to him. That a religious object held no power over him like it would have if he had still been a bloodthirsty monster, these two guys didn’t care about him like George had, the religious artifact would have stung or burned like the Star of David that the werewolf wore would have if George didn’t care about him. His stomach flips again at the notion and emotions bubbled forth. He was free from the darkness that plagued him, he might not be free from his demons, from the guilt but he was free from the fear of killing more people. Head bows, staring at the blood in his hand until movement catches his attention again, causing him to glance up the sight of the larger guy with shaggy hair walking closer to him. He tenses in case of any more tests before he’s being passed a roll of gauze for the bleeding wound. Lips pressed tightly together as he gingerly takes the bandages to start wrapping up his hand. 

“You didn’t tell me who you were.” Mitchell mumbles softly, missing the careful glances that the two hunters shot each other, caution in their stances at the stranger before them, unsure if they can trust the man that had just appeared outside of Bobby's home, and with the apocalypse and the throes of creatures and monsters on the prowl they weren’t sure if the man before them were dangerous or friendly. 

A silent communication is given, head shaking and annoyed glances before names were finally given. 

“My name is Sam Winchester, this is my older brother Dean. Uh, do you know where you are Mitchell? You did appear out of thin air there.” 

“No fucking idea. Thought I would be in Ireland considering that was where I happened to be, but uh-” Mitchell stops, unsure if he should explain everything to the two hunters before him, the fact that he had been killed by his best friend in a plea of mercy for him so he wasn’t taken to be a guard dog for an old one, that he had met with Death and forced to live longer than he wanted which had let him here, that he had once been a vampire with the victim list much larger than this world. He shrugs instead, indication that he wasn’t sure on why he was here or where he was. Better to play safe than sorry when he was in the presence of two hunters that seemed to know a lot more than the idiots that he had ran into when he was still a vampire. 

“You’re far from Ireland...uh, you’re in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.” Sam responds softly, almost like he was expecting a panicked response but all he got was a shrug and half mumbled statement about always wanted to visit the states. “That doesn’t bother you?” 

“Not..Not really I guess? I’ve been everywhere truly, seen all the sites in Ireland, Scotland, London, Paris...never been to the US..or Canada. Don’t know why the fuck I’m here though…” 

“Thats what we want to know...what happened before you ended up here?” 

“Walked through a door, ended up here.” Mitchell responded, it wasn’t a lie. He had walked through a door to get here, he hadn’t been given a choice, or given a reason onto why other than there was more he was supposed to do. “When I walked through it though, uh, someone mentioned I had more I needed to do here...not sure what the fuck that means, but I’m sure something will happen and I’ll understand, but for now..I’ll, uh, just go-” he gestures towards where he assumes the front door was, standing from the seat that he had been forced into with a little wave as he spins on his feet to wander towards the door of freedom. No one was following him, quiet whispers coming from the brothers but Mitchell didn’t bother focusing on it, hurrying his steps to get the hell out of the house and hopefully to some small town so he could get a beer and figure out what the hell he was supposed to do now that he was human and frankly in a country he had no idea where anything was. If he had still been in Ireland or England even, he would have known what to do, where to go and where to start his new life with this chance. He could have ignored the supernatural, pretend that he lost his memory, but perhaps being in the usa was safer. There wouldn’t be anyone out there who knew his face unlike in his home land. 

Hand grasp at the handle, pulling it open and taking a step onto the porch before a hand is resting on his shoulder, tension coursing through his body as he spins to dislodge himself, attention landing on the taller Winchester who had his hands up in a show of non violence, his apology clear on features. 

“My brother and I think it would be smart for you to stay with us, you haven’t been to the States yet, and uh...it’s dangerous out there, a lot of bad people.” 

Eyebrow quirks up, but he doesn’t say anything at the moment stuffing his hands in his pockets as he stares. He should leave, he wasn’t safe with two hunters not to mention questions would arise and Mitchell wasn’t open to answering some of them which would lead to tension...but he didn’t think he had a choice in the matter. 

“From what? Demons and monsters? Angels?” Mitchell questions, voice thick with slight disbelief.Sure, he believed in those creatures, he’d seen some shit throughout the years and working with herrick he had the pleasure of meeting some of the more unfavorable monsters that lurked in the dark. “Angels don’t exist, and for monsters, sure its dangerous out there but I’ve dealt with them before...I’m not some idiot.” 

There’s silence, the two of them staring at each other and Mitchell sighs softly as Sam thinks of what to say. 

“So you’re a hunter? Haven’t you noticed any increase of activity in Ireland…weird happenings? More deaths and monsters lurking?” 

“Not really. I’m not a hunter, I just know there’s shit out there...look. You say it isn’t safe out there,” hand gestures to the open road, “no where is safe, bloody hell the world is a shit place, but I can take care of myself. If somethings going on than tell me now so I can be prepared when I hit town.” 

“You aren’t going to believe this but the apocalypse has started. Lucifer has risen and there’s an influx of monsters, demons and angels running around...killing people.” No hesitation. No beating around the bush, straight to the point and Mitchell freezes slightly, eyes widening as he stares at the giant man before him. That had to be a joke, a stupid lie that Mitchell could laugh, call him crazy and flee but from years of hearing lies and noticing signs of deceit Mitchell knew that Sam wasn’t yanking his leg. Standing straighter Mitchell cussed softly, hand running through messy locks before he glances back to the road that called for him than back to the hunter that was standing there staring at him. 

That bright light almost a month ago, the world shaking. He had felt power running through the world when that happened, the news screaming about an explosion, or a lightning strike happening in some church. Herrick and the rest of the vampires of Ireland had gone quiet for a week, everyone to cautious to do anything...hell, even Mitchell had been inclined to stay in the house for a bit due to that. 

“The church that was supposedly used in an explosion...that wasn’t human. That was-” 

“Lucifer rising. Look, someone said that you had work to do here, my brother and I think that it has to do with the apocalypse...and we’re trying to stop it. It would be best if you stayed here so nothing can happen…” 

Teeth bit into lip, and a string of curses before he’s throwing his hands up. The logic there was sound, and Mitchell wasn’t sure if this was what Donn had meant he had more he had to do...but what else would it have been? 

“Guess I’m bunking with you two.”


	3. Chapter 3

Days had gone by turning into weeks since he had been sent to these hunters, since his death and in turn resurrection? Could he even called it that in this sense, death didn’t seem to enjoy his company like it did with others but he slowly started to understand that the Winchesters were the same. Stories were passed around one night, some drunken confessions and the seed of disbelief had planted itself within him at the claims of demon deals and angels bringing them back from the halls of the damned, that disbelief was judged when they were ambushed in their hotel room. Guns being pointed at Sam and Dean, while he was yelled at to stay where he was. His heart was thumping wildly, mind racing to see where and how he could diffuse the situation that was escalating to the point of someone being killed. 

It didn’t matter, Mitchell watched Sam try to explain, the please leaving his lips before the loud blast of a shotgun echoed, his body moving to stand but gun is swung towards him, the order to sit down aimed at both him and the older Winchester. Mitchells stomach was rolling, staring at the crimson that was starting to stain the white sheets of Sams bed, the other hunters voices debating whether they would have to kill Dean and the answer was clear enough. Yes. They had to if they didn’t want an angry Winchester hunting them down like they had to them, and the echoing gunshot sent him wincing, blood splattering against the wall and he watches the body go limp. 

Deans last threat ringing in his ears, when they came back. When they got back they better run. Fury flashes through him, gaze flickering between the bodies of his friends and then to the two hunters who were staring at him, like they hadn’t expected another person there. He wasn’t expected, and he tenses ever so slightly. Castiel was off looking for God in hopes that the wayward father would be found to stop his sons idea of revenge on the earth, he doubts the angel would come to help him. The two didn’t get along, their first meeting rough which stopped him from sending out a prayer, simply staring at the two, hands raised. 

“Gonna kill an innocent man?” words fall from his lips, his anger clear but that twinge of fear flickered forth. “I saw what ya did...gonna leave a witness or am I gonna be shot also?” 

Silence. Nothing being said and the metallic smell was starting to make his stomach clench in discomfort until the shotgun was pointed at him once more, barrel being loaded, they didn’t have anything on him. He wasn’t their target but a witness wouldn’t be welcomed and Mitchell knew that whatever was going to happen it wouldn’t be pretty for anyone. Eye contact isn’t broken as the gun is leveled with his chest, his heart thumping louder, Roy says something akin to that he didn’t need to die, that their beef wasn’t with him but the other man didn’t care, and Mitchell feels the blast hit him before nothing. 

\----

He’s standing in the midst of an old house, the crashing of waves coming from an open window that showed green grass swaying in the wind and a lump forms in his throat. The worn wood beneath his feet familiar and the small cottage that he was standing sending his heart to ache. This was his childhood home, the windows open to let in the sea salt air, the wind blowing sending white curtains fluttering and sending a shiver up his spine as a something butts against his leg, a soft meow disrupting the silence and Mitchells looks down to see the orange tabby cat that he once had. 

“Clover?” name is dropped, and Mitchell crouches to gently pet the cat that had been one of his best friends when he was a small child, warmth spreading within chest at the soft licks to his fingers and he lifts the cat to rest within his arms, a laugh leaving him at the nuzzling that Clover was doing, purrs vibrating against his cheek. “I missed ya to boy..” 

“Did you give him the rest of the cream Johnny?” a voice calls from where he remembered the kitchen to be, and Mitchell tenses heart skipping a beat as head turns slightly. It couldn’t have been...no...it couldn’t have been. Gingerly heading to where the soft clinking of plates were coming from, he pokes his head in from the door frame and his mouth falls dry, staring at the young woman standing by an open window, a red apron around her waist stained with flour, dark brown hair tied up into a messy bun while the white blouse she wore with the sleeves rolled up didn’t escape the white powder that stained her apron and her dark blue skirt. 

His mother turns, smile bright as she stares at him with obvious amusement on her features, bright green eyes twinkling with light and Mitchell can feel his chest tighten. His mom was standing there, making bread and Mitchell remembers this, this one of the few days his mother was strong enough to do anything, where her illness didn’t affect her as badly as it did on other days. “Not yet ma...I just got back from feeding the chickens.” he whispers watching his mother smile more, gently pouring whatever cream they had left into a small dish for Clover who jumped from his arms and bounded towards the dish, lapping up the thick substance that was placed on the ground for him. 

“Well there...I just got the bread baking sweetie, it shouldn’t take too long now, would you like some oats with a nice slice of bread when it’s done Johnny? For breakfast?” 

“Yes Ma...do we have any honey left?” 

“I think we do, you might have to go get some more from those hives you’ve been meaning to check out darling, would you like me to go with you today?” 

“.....” 

He remembers this, all of this...this day had been one of the best days of his life. His mother feeling up to taking a walk with him through fields and into a small wooded area to collect honey, they talked and laughed, and she told him stories about fae and how the angels were watching over them as they entered the woods so no fae would take them...his father had gotten home early with fresh fish from his catch that day. Mitchell remembers watching his mother and father dance in front of the fire they had started on the small beach just a mile from the house, and how they star gazed before going home to sleep. Tears well up, throat tightening as he nods his head slightly, relief flooding through him as his mother beamed so brightly. She had been worried that he would decline, that he was too worried for her health, and Mitchell knew that, he remembered being scared to agree but he just couldn’t disagree.

A loud cracking sound catches attention, Clover accidentally knocking the dish over and pain flashes through his chest, a gunshot echoed in his ears while the bodies of Sam and Dean entered mind and it’s silent. His mother nowhere to be seen, Clover gone and Mitchell stands there alone once more. Head spins searching for his mother and beloved friend, calling out but no one responds, nothing indicating that the cottage was filled with anyone but him and he feels lost, a lost that he hadn’t felt in years. What was this? Why was this happening?! Staying where he was, Mitchell feels his brows furrow, waiting for something to happen and nothing does. The silence deafening until a voice calls for him. His feet are moving before he can stop himself, rushing towards the front door,hand going to grasp at the wooden handle and he pulls it open until a bright light blinds him once more. 

He stands in the middle of a field, men singing softly as laughter comes from the small groups lingering together, the smell of campfire and gunpowder assaulting his senses and Mitchell winces back in shock. The men that surrounded him giving him a wave, as he steps from the tent that he had called home for a few months now, staring at the familiar faces dressed in army garb, the guns laying beside them as his group took a small break from the trek that they had been on. The day was bright, the field surrounded by trees and thick bushes that they had been pleasantly hidden from any scouts of the enemies and Mitchell stares staring at faces long since dead. A hand claps at his shoulder, and attention shifts to Jackson, a blonde haired male with a five o’clock shadow, bright brown eyes with a scar going through his left eyebrow staring back at him. “Come on Mitch, you’ve been sleeping the day away!” he laughs dragging him towards the fire that held some small scraps of food that they had saved for him. 

“Never know when you’re gonna be getting that rest again Jackie.” Mitchell mumbles, astonished that he was here again, the memory of the day one of the brighter ones during the war. “What ya save me?” he already knows, the sad amount of corned beef and a stale piece of bread that he had been given that day was a prayer answered, and Jackson hands him it with a bright grin. 

“The best of the food for the youngest here!” 

“I’m two years younger than you are Jackson! I’m not that young!” 

Laughter spilled from some of the other men, the oldest giving their own opinion and jabs and Mitchell grinned despite the looming threat of death that seemed the linger with them through the war. This had been one of the days that nothing could have gone wrong that day, and it didn’t, but the next day they were on the move again deeper into the throes of battle and bloodshed. It didn’t matter though, not right now, and Mitchell was content to follow the path of this memory. Jackson had dragged him to a nearby creek away from prying eyes later that day, not that the others didn’t catch onto what they were doing there was no judgement in that group...mitchell had gotten lucky with his brothers in arms, but he could remember the cool water soothing bruises and scrapes, he remembered Jackson and the kisses and embraces they shared. A promise they made to each other. It had been his first love, Jackson, in the middle of war they had each other, they listened to each others fears and comforted each other when gunshots rang throughout the night. 

It was a hand to his shoulder that snapped him from his thoughts, head swirling to where Jackson was only to find him and the others gone, the field was still around him, the fire before him still lit and the tents standing strong but anything that had life was gone, and he turns to see who was holding his shoulder. 

“Joshua. My name is Joshua.” the male smiles, sitting beside him and Mitchell winces at the sudden disappearance of the field, a garden taking its place, “You are John Mitchell.” 

“Where are we?” was the first question that leaves him, turning to stare at the grass that he sat upon. 

“Heavens Garden. I take care of this place, it is a sanctuary here for all angels to repent and feel closer to our father. To speak to him if they wish.” 

“Why am I here?” 

“You were shot and killed if I remember your friends explaining what happened to them. Castiel mentioned that he felt your soul enter your heaven but could not find it...not a lot of angels know where your heaven is so it does not surprise me that he could not find it.” 

Mitchell falls silent, unsure what to say to any of that information but he nods his head despite it. What else could he do? 

“God speaks fondly of you Mitchell. A bright soul he says despite some of the darker aspects that afflicted you...you still shine bright even now. It does not shock me that you do...when you were created so long ago those who were around were amazed at how bright a soul could shine. The four archangels were proud of you.” 

“What?” he doesn’t mean to sound incredulous, not to an angel this friendly but that was a lot more information that he truly didn’t want to unpack, “What are you talking about Joshua?” 

“Our father has a lot of mystery to him Mitchell. He wants nothing to do with the apocalypse as I have explained to your friends before they went back to the living, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t help. You will be a light in the dark times Mitchell, our father thinks so.” 

“What do you mean that God wants nothing to do with the apocalypse! These are his kids deciding to fuck over the bloody planet! He needs to fucking help!” 

“Your friends are looking for you my brother. I am sure we will see each other again...our father has granted that you remember what happened here. It was nice to meet you, John Mitchell. The Archangels Creation.” 

A light blinds him, his yell being cut off as he gasps awake in the motel that he had been killed in, Sam standing over him with a shocked expression, but Mitchell turns over, hacking and coughing as his lungs started working once more, Sam grasping at his back in an attempt to help. Yells for the other Winchester hurting his head but his coughing resided and hands go to grasp at his chest, bullet holes nonexistent.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been hours since they had been snapped back into their bodies, away from heaven and back in the impala on the open road once more driving away from the motel that they had been slaughtered in. Thick silence captured them, two out of three lost in their own thoughts, and Mitchell wished that he could read into what the brothers were thinking, what they were feeling but while he couldn’t physically know any of that Mitchell could sense the tension that radiated from the two. Something had happened when they were parading through heaven, memories being dragged up, Mitchell could only assume that the memories weren’t good ones. Not that it was his business, it really wasn’t but he wished that they could play music or something to beat the silence, have something playing that would help him focus his thoughts rather than just uncomfortable, thick silence. Head leans against the window, watching the road and whatever else was on the side of the road go past in a blur, his own time in heaven plaguing his mind, his short time in the garden and Joshua’s words bothering him more than they should have. Both Death and Joshua had spoken of God in regards to him, Death mentioning that the big man had a plan for him, while the angel spoke about how he was being praised by the same man who wanted shit with the apocalypse about his soul. A bright soul he supposedly was, yet he didn’t feel bright, not with the darkness that seemed to lurk around him, not with what he had done to all those people, and that wasn’t the most confusing of the whole bloody conversation he had been apart of. 

The Archangels Creation. That was what Joshua had called him before he was being blasted back into his body, The Archangels Creation. He had no fucking idea what the hell that meant, he had a sinking feeling what it did though and he was not at all happy at the thought because it didn’t make any sense. Fingers tap against his thigh, mouth in a firm line as he replayed the events in his head, cataloging everything that he could remember under different files within his mind, everything that Death had mentioned, everything Joshua had spoken of and the similarities that the two happened to share going into their own sections and questions that he wanted answered going into another. Someone had to have answers, someone had to know what the hell was going on with all this bright soul creation bullshit that had been thrown at him and Mitchell intended to find out at some point. Sigh escapes from his nose, head leaning back to rest for a moment, eyes shutting close allowing the sensation of the car cruising to lead him off to some sort of sleep despite the rest that he had back at the motel when he had been shot. 

\--------

_ The sun is shining down on him, crashing waves catching his attention and he turns towards the ocean eyes wide at the unfamiliar location that he found himself in, attention focusing on the high cliffs that surrounded him, the blue waters glittering from where the sun shined down upon it, the sand beneath his feet heated by the rays of the sun but it didn’t hurt, no, this was comforting heat that had him shivering in delight. Everything was serene, peaceful, comforting as he stood there basking in the open area before something catches his attention, a figure standing within the water, staring out at the ocean and Mitchell can feel the power radiating from the stranger. Caution raises within him, but he doesn’t tense, instead he just walks forward towards the water with a calmness that he didn’t know was possible, and once he reached the waters edge he entered it, not expecting the coolness but it was welcomed as he started towards the man that stare out towards the sun, only stopping when a voice spoke.  _

_ “I didn’t think the old man would actually use the soul that we created in any of his creations, explains why you had disappeared after the fall and well, after dad left.”  _

_ Brow furrow, hands going to run across the water surface and Mitchell stayed silent for a moment, surprise catching him off guard at the words leaving the man's lips and he focuses more at the appearance but its blurry from where he was which didn’t make a lick of sense considering he was close enough that he should have been able to see physical features. Shoulders raise slightly before he’s shaking his head, and turning to look at the sun, squinting slightly at the rays blinding him but he doesn’t look away.  _

_ “Joshua mentioned that the four archangels created my soul...if that's even true, which one are you?”  _

_ “It’s true, one of the only things I was allowed to create was your soul, and some other critters that were thrown into Australia but you were one of the most important things next to the platypus.”  _

_ Nose scrunches slightly up at being compared just as important to an animal that lays eggs but it wasn’t the worst he has ever been compared to. Nina’s words about him being a leech came forth, a plague and Mitchell is more willing to be compared to a platypus than any of those. Stretching slightly, he hums not really believing what he was hearing.  _

_ “Sure. Sounds fucking logical with everything that fucking happened, with what I did and what haunts me. Archangels Creation my ass.”  _

_ “What did you do Little Light?”  _

_ The nickname catches him off guard, attention turning back to the supposed archangel before him, opening his mouth to rant and yell about everything he had done. His sins, the people he slaughtered in war and when the bloodlust was too strong for him to handle but he doesn’t get the chance, a distant voice calls out and his attention is there instead, frowning as the waves lapped a little stronger against his legs and he hears a sigh coming from the blurry stranger.  _

_ “Seems like I'll have to talk to you later Little Light.”  _

_ _ _ _____

He comes to with hands shaking at his arm, a grunt leaving his lips as he cracks an eye open to stare at whoever had to ruin his peaceful slumber to see Dean staring at him, eyebrow perked and a grin on his features. Pushing himself up more in the seat, hands batted the prodding fingers away before going to rub at the sleep crusted part of his eyes grumbling, “What the fuck do you want?” 

“Sleeping beauty doesn’t like being woken up, come on Mitch we stopped for some food…” was the simple reply and Mitchell turned his attention out the window to see some run down gas station that had most likely seen some better days before him with rusted tin signs nailed up around the door which just added to the rundown experience but connected to it was a decent looking restaurant, well kept unlike the gas station. At second look Mitchell could clearly see the signs advertising for the best pecan pie in all of the United States and the reason why they had stopped at this place came forth. Turning to shoot Dean a look and simply getting a grin Mitchell opened the door to the impala stepped out and let out a soft sigh. 

It appeared that they had driven further than expected, the bustling city they had been on the outskirts of when being shot was nowhere to be seen, the open road with grassy fields gone and in its place the looming figures of trees and dense forestry surrounded them and Mitchell stares, almost uncomfortable at the trees. His mother's mention of the fae that lurked behind trees and trickster demons waiting to grab you to take you back to their twisted world rang through his mind and a wince overtook him. 

“You okay man?” Deans voice cut through his memories and he gave a shrug in response. 

“Just uh, remembering some stuff my Ma used to say about the woods. Heaven must have jogged some memories of her..” he didn’t want to explain what he had gone through while he was in heaven, the memories, the talk in the garden was something that would have the Winchesters pointing guns at him for being something that he didn’t even fucking know he was, for all he knew he was a human and that was what he was going with. 

“You crashed pretty hard there.” 

“How long was I out?” 

“Five maybe seven hours…” 

His dream comes back to him, the beach and warm sand with the sand beneath his feet coming back sending a calmness through him with a warmth that he wasn’t all that sure where it came from considering it was simply a dream. The conversation between blurry figure and him just his mind portraying some scene due to everything that had happened in the last few days, and hand goes up to rub at the back of his neck, shrugging again unsure what he could truly say to the fact on how long he slept. It didn’t feel that long when he was standing on that beach, only a few moments. 

“Must have been tired.” Was the nonchalant reply to the statement as hand pulls open the door to the diner, a bell twinkling to tell everyone that someone was entering and his eyes scan the small area. A bar was in front of him holding a few people, behind the bar some fridges with drinks and a waitress with a cheery smile, a motherly tone to her as she waved at them, behind her a large window showing the kitchen where a man stood cooking. Past the bar to his left were booths and some tables with chairs, the seats all wooden and holding some red to it in cushion covers and his attention lands on the tallest Winchester sitting by the back, the window peering right into the parking lot and Mitchell made a beeline towards him, ignoring the photos on the walls and precular decorations ranging from mounted animals and antlers. Sliding across from Sam, he focuses on the menu in front of him, ignoring the look being shot at him. 

Dean slides next to his brother, grabbing his own menu and Mitchell can feel the eyes on him. Annoyance bubbles, wanting to ask them what was so important that they stare but he’s interrupted by the chipper tone of the waitress. 

“What can I get for you boys?” 

“Coffee Darling.” Deans reply was fast, his tone sweet and the soft snort coming from the waitress told Mitchell that she was obviously amused by the buttering up. 

“I’ll take a water please.” Sam answers afterward, almost as if they had become to this song and dance, although Mitchell can tell that his thoughts were elsewhere at the moment, a sinking feeling told him that he was staring at him still, which he ignored staring at the options of tea that the restaurant had to offer. 

“For you tall, dark and handsome?” 

“I’ll take the uh, earl grey tea please.” not that he particularly enjoyed Earl Grey, but it was the closest thing that he wanted at the moment that seemed like the home that he had to leave behind. The footsteps of the waitress faded and then it was just them once more, Mitchell finally looking up to stare at the brothers that he had been traveling with, his features twisting slightly at the looks being shot at him. “What?” 

He doesn’t miss the looks being aimed at each other, the shifting of eyes before Sam is leaning forward, arms resting on the table and concern clear in his expression. It reminded him of George, the stupid worry that was so easy to read in his eyes, brows furrowed and mouth turned down in the corners expecting bad news and a pang of home sickness hit him. 

“Is everything alright? I mean, we didn’t see you in heaven, Castiel couldn’t find your heaven which he mentioned was weird. Not to mention you crashed hard after coming back. I get that things have been a bit wild but is everything okay?” 

They wanted information. They wanted to know why Castiel couldn’t find his heaven, why he had crashed the way he did and perhaps Mitchell had been acting weirdly? He could never tell when he was in lighter terms lost in his thoughts and brooding, but the answers to those questions were something that he didn’t know truly, he had assumptions but no hard truths which was a little annoying. 

“I don’t know why Castiel couldn’t find my heaven, I’m no angel...and if you’re worried about me crashing, I was tired, emotionally tired...they memories that were dragged up were bloody emotional...it’s none of your business what I saw up there besides, I was just shot and killed and then dragged back into my body. No door or anything which is fucking weird.” Defensive almost, nothing to be too caught off guard by considering everything and Mitchell was tired, he hadn’t thought of Jackson or his mother in years...having shoved them back so his demons didn’t drag them forward and seeing them again left his heart aching and emotionally tired. 

“Door? What the fuck does that mean?” Dean piqued in, leaning forward himself and Mitchell internally groaned. 

“Ireland, when someone dies a door appears. A door to their afterlife to wherever they are headed, heaven or hell...I was just caught off guard not seeing one…” 

It wasn’t the best explanation but he had been surprised not to see a door waiting for him, instead he just appeared in his memories rather than doing the whole song and dance with waiting for his door. Another shrug, attention turning to the waitress getting closer, the water being handed to Sam, Dean with the coffee and Mitchell smiled his thanks at the tea, turning to grab the sugar and cream to throw into his drink, ignoring the looks being aimed at him before he’s waiting to place his order. Sam orders a stack of pancakes with a bowl of fruit, Dean the lumberjack meal which was a heart attack waiting to happen with a side of pie and Mitchell simply asks for the blueberry pancakes with sausage on the side. 

Conversation after that shifted from Mitchell to other topics. Teasing remarks from brothers came easily, Mitchell’s own remarks adding to the sass as they dug into their meals with a joy that couldn’t be ruined. Only glad that the topic shifted off of him Mitchell leaned back, his meal gone and the warm cup of tea in his hands comforting as his attention shifted back towards the forest that surrounded them, wondering if there were any trickster demons or pixies looking to drag them away to a world that wouldn’t be too friendly with mere mortals. Humming softly, gaze goes from the large trees down towards where the impala was, brows furrowing seeing someone leaning up against the door and staring at him. 

“What the fuck.” He utters out, straightening himself up to get closer to the window, not missing the brothers turning to see what he was staring at himself and from the confused expressions no one was sure who the hell the guy was. Shifting, head turns only to feel a small ball of anxiety bubble forth seeing most of the occupants staring at them now, the waitress grinning the brightest as her arms gesture open as a welcoming and Mitchell felt himself tense watching her get closer and closer. 

“Enjoy the meal boys?” Her tone wasn’t the friendly one that had been there before, instead it was more calculating, cruel, “Didn’t think we’d see the famous Winchester brothers in our little slice of paradise, let alone what they’re traveling with.” she’s staring at him now, and Mitchell shot her a confused look, guarded but clearly confused. 

“Should have known you were making the place stink. Thought it was just how shitty the place looked..” Deans snark cut through, earning him a warning glare from the creature before him, the waitresses eyes flashing black and Mitchell felt his heart stutter for a moment, his mind going back to the vampires in Ireland whose eyes flashed black when they wanted to feast but this was different. A sickness seemed to swirl around the waitress, an inky blackness that swelled and Mitchell shifted to get away from the smoke that slowly reached for him unsure if Dean or Sam could see what he was, and from how they were solely intent on the female and not the smoke, the feeling that they couldn’t washed over him. 

“What do you want?” Sam cuts in, tone holding no room for bullshit not that it mattered, “You can’t do anything to us, we’ve already been over this, the apocalypse and all that shit.” 

“Nothing from you boys, but your friend…” blackened eyes snap towards him once more, her grin widening slightly and Mitchell forces himself to calm down, gaze shifting from the black smoke leeching off of her to make eye contact, “He would be an interesting bargaining tool.” her tone is a purr, sitting next to him and Mitchell shuffles back so he isn’t touching her but her hand reaches for his arm but hesitates before dropping it down. 

“Bargaining tool?” Sam is speaking again, his tone holding the curiosity but confusion and Dean shoots him a look saying the same thing. “What does Mitchell have to do with anything.” 

“You don’t know? And you’ve running around with angels, thought you and that weirdo in the trench coat were besties, sharing everything. I’m surprised that Mitchie here hasn’t said anything.” the waitress smiles pleasantly, everyones attention turning to him. 

“I don’t know what she’s talking about…” he doesn’t that was the truth, and he hoped it showed, “I don’t bloody know anything.” 

“You sure about that Darling? A little birdy said that the Archangels Creation was running around with the Winchesters, but it could have been a rumor. A fable.” 

There’s silence after that, and Mitchell can feel eyes on him, his panic growing slightly but he catches Deans glance at him than to Sam before he’s moving to stand up, money being pulled out of his pocket to toss onto the table. Posture showing that he wasn’t happy, that he wasn’t in the mood and Mitchell didn’t blame him. How could he? They just got back from not being dead and now it was this. Shifting, he shoots Sam a look, still trapped in the booth with the creature, almost worried that they would leave him there before the female was being dragged out of the booth, Dean slamming her into a different table and Mitchell scrambled out of the booth eyes wide for a moment as Sams being lunged at by one of the other creatures before he’s in his own standoff. The cook had come out, knife twirling in his hands before he’s rushing at him. Side stepping out of the way, naturally going into fighting position Mitchell kept his vital organs safe, hands up to deflect blade when it came down towards him again, striking himself to grasp at the arm, twisting to get the blade to drop and once it is, a punch is thrown. A crack catches ears and the cook is backing up, anger in his features but Mitchell is already scanning the room for the easiest way out, they were outnumbered here, the impala wasn’t far from where they were if they could get to the door. 

Thoughts are interrupted as he’s being tackled into a table, a sharp pain rushing through him as he grunts, rolling over to get back up but he’s being dragged by the foot backwards, twisting his body to see what looked like some trucker staring at him with pitch black eyes and he yells out as leg is twisted more, a popping sound followed by agony but his hand grasps at chair and he’s swinging it as hard as he could towards the trucker to get him off but he’s still bringing dragged backwards, leg throbbing and shooting pain down his nerves and he yells again. 

“Mitchell!” Sam shouts, and he can see him racing towards him but he notices Dean being ganged up, his own battle seemingly unwell and the choice was made. 

“I’m fine! Go help Dean and get the fuck out of here! I’ll meet you at the impala!” his shout is given, order there and Mitchell can hear Jacksons voice whispering in his ear about how he was a self sacrificing idiot. He ignores it, attention turning back to the creator that he was dealing with and he finally finds the strength through the agony to grab some debris that had snapped from a table, pointed end aimed and he jabs it forward, a howl echoing his own agonized yelp as leg is dropped. He can hear Dean and Sam trying to get to him again, “Get out! They won’t kill me! I’ll meet you out there!” 

He doesn’t see them hesitate, or turn to get to the impala, Sam dragging Dean back to the impala, snapping that he was true and Mitchell doesn’t see them escape bruised and bloodied with these creatures running after them, no, instead he’s focusing on breathing through his pain, leaning against the far end of the bar and glancing up to see the waitress and chef stalking towards him once more, features twisted and angered. Hands scramble for a knife, Jacksons voice again whispering at him to defend himself, that he can win this fight, and Mitchell wonders if he accidentally hit his head going down but once hand grasps at the handle of a blade he turns hissing through the pain and slashing at the black eyed creatures getting closer and closer, until he’s being blinded, a bright light erupting from nowhere it seemed, the. warmth comforting and he can hear the screams of the creatures and than someones grabbing him as he collapses 


	5. Chapter 5

Sam was dragging him away from the diner that they had walked into, leaving Mitchell alone with a hoard of demons that the guy probably had no fucking idea on what he was up against. They had left him to die and Dean can feel the bitter sense of guilt build higher and higher with everyone that they end up killing. He pulls himself free from his brother, hand easily going to the gun that he keeps in his waist before he’s cocking and shooting the bastard leaning against the impala while Sam stabs him with Ruby’s knife. A sick satisfaction washed over him seeing the demon choke and die before he’s rushing to the drivers 

side door swinging open as he climbs in along with Sam. Jabbing the keys into the ignition and starting it his attention goes to the diner waiting for Mitchell to come running out but he never does, instead a group of demons comes running out in Mitchell’s place. 

“Come on Mitchell!” He hisses, waiting for a few more moments, hitting the gas only to dodge the bastards getting closer with every intention of turning around to help. Sam telling him that Mitchell would be out in a matter of seconds but that hope dies out the moment a bright light flashes forth from the diner, screaming echoing, the windows blasting out as the impala tilts dangerously before crashing back into the wheels. The demons chasing them wincing from the light, stunned from the blast and Dean can feel his eyes widen, the guilt that had been building breaking the dam as he stares at the destroyed diner. His moment of shock and self hatred halted as Sam yells at him to drive reaches his ears and with a numbness that he was ever so used to Dean speeds, turning out of the parking lot and hitting the highway once more. 

“What the fuck was that?!” He’s snapping, hand slamming against the steering wheel ignoring the sharp pain that races up his nerves, eyes on the road as Sam is looking over his shoulder to make sure that no one was following them. 

“I don’t know! It wasn’t like an explosion that I’ve seen….” he’s breathless, and Dean can sense the guilt ebbing away at his brother but he doesn’t say anything to make that guilt go away, his anger and own guilt keeping him from doing so. They never should have left Mitchell there to deal with that himself, they should have ignored his order and gone to help him. What type of friends were they?! Shaking he grips the steering wheel tighter, foot pressing down on the pedal as if he could escape what had just happened even though he knew that it would haunt him like all the other people that had lead to deaths. Silence comes forth, both of them breathing hard but they keep on driving, the sun setting down and darkness welcoming them as they got further and further away. 

“What in the hell.” He utters, a glow before them brightening and Dean can feel the disbelief grow as he slows the impala down for the flaming road block, hand on the gear to back up but he doesn’t get that far as window is smashed and he’s being grabbed. Fighting to keep himself in his car and making sure that Sam was alright he cusses loudly until water is being sprayed, the people attacking them screaming and hissing as smoke erupts from them as what Dean could only assume was holy water sprayed them down from a hose. Where were these assholes hours ago?! 

——

Someone’s grabbing him as he collapses, the weight on his leg too much, the pounding in his head finally coming forth and Mitchell can see his sight wavering before him, Jackson’s whispering grew louder and louder until eyes roll back and a sense of lightness surrounded him as if he was floating among the clouds, which was accompanied with a flutter of wings before everything goes dark and Jackson’s whispering is nothing once more. Mitchell doesn’t see the explosion that rockets from the diner, he doesn’t see the creatures die in a death that meant there was no coming back from, the righteous fury on his saviors features as eyes glow a brilliant bluish white. No; he doesn’t see any of that, instead he’s welcomed to the soft pitter patter of rain falling outside of his childhood cabin once more, the clanging of pots and pans down below where the assumption that his father was making something to eat for his family coming to mind, Clovers soft purring adds to the atmosphere and Mitchell can feel himself relax slightly. 

Shifting, he turns to glance out the window of his childhood home, staring at the darkened clouds, the ocean in the distance crashing its waves down hard upon the surface and a crack of lightning flashes in the distance, a smile crosses his features staring out at the scenery that he had grown to miss and forget over the decades and Mitchell simply sits in the middle of the room, allowing Clover to crawl into his lap as he watches another crack of lightning spear through the sky as thunder rolled through. Wherever he was, dream or heaven, Mitchell was intent on staying where he was for a while longer before going back to the apocalypse, back to the mess that he had been thrown into by destiny or god himself. Fingers curl into the soft fur of Clover, eyes watching the clouds swirl and move as another crack of lightning flashed through the sky and as the light was at its brightest eyes widen slightly at the sight of a silhouette among the clouds but the figure familiar and the beach comes to mind. 

“If you want to talk, just appear rather than fucking be dramatic.” he mutters, attention going back to his cat, ignoring the presence in the room that appeared, Clovers purring sending him back into a state of calmness that Mitchell soughted at the moment. “We in Heaven again.” 

“Nope! We’re in your subconscious..your comfort zone which is quite ...lovely?” A males voice came forth, movement catching his attention for a moment as someone came to sit down next to him. “Not what I expected, took you more as a sunshine and beach guy, my bad.” 

Head shakes, turning to look out the window again as the waves crashed down again, accompanied with a large roll of thunder and Mitchell happily sighs. The scent of ocean air and fresh grass hitting him before he’s looking towards the stranger that was sitting next to him, taking in his appearance before turning his attention back to Clover. “You never told me your name, kind of rude to be appearing in my subconscious before telling me your name ” he mentions, snark dripping with every word enough that his mother might have whacked him upside his head. 

“They call me Gabriel, messenger of the Lord or whatever.” Mitchell doesn’t miss the bitterness lacing words at the mention of the big guy, and he doesn’t blame him from what he knew about God and his abandoning skills. 

“Archangel Gabriel, you were there at the beach ...created the platypus.” 

“Bingo, I’ve created a lot of things when I was still kicking it up in heaven, the platypus one of my prouder achievements.” There's a tone of fondness at what Mitchell could only assume was the memory of creating one of the weirdest mammals that walked on earth but he doesn’t voice it not wanting to upset the archangel sitting next to him. “I mean, I created you, mind you with the help of my brothers but I added to your soul.” 

“The Archangels Creation. Joshua called me that…” 

“It was big news, Joshua was just created a decade or so before you were, all the angels that were around whispered about it. I remember father giving us that job, to create one human soul. Pretty sure it was to try and persuade us to love his creations more than him and to have dear old brother Luci see the worth in humans.” 

“Didn’t work I assume.”

“Nope. It was a while after creating you that the fight happened, there was a lot of blood, a lot of deaths...I thought that it had worked too, Lucifer was happier after creating his part of your soul, pleased with himself...I always saw him whispering to you…” 

“You make it sound like I lived in heaven.” 

“You did. You had a body, you had thoughts and could speak, the youngest next to Cassie, but you weren’t an angel or archangel. Human, the first human soul or some form of a human soul to walk through heaven among the angels, among the lord himself since he was kicking around back then. After the fall, you started growing quiet, withdrawn and it hurt ...than Dad left and you just faded into nothing. We couldn’t find you, not on earth or in heaven, hell even hell we couldn’t sense you…but I guess the old man hid you away.” 

He’s uncomfortable, shoulders tensing at the knowledge being given to him, the fact that he didn’t remember any of this, that he didn’t know whether or not this was true or wrong. Could he run from this? Deny it and state that they had found the wrong person and he really should be dead and gone. He stares out the window, silent unsure what he could say. Could angels be wrong? Could Death be wrong? Teeth bit into lip and he senses that Gabriel was staring at him, and he turns to stare at him also, unsure if his disbelief was showing through but he sees the sadness in the archangel before him, the knowledge that Mitchell didn’t believe him and he can sense that Gabriel was waiting for him to say anything. 

“I...I don’t know what to say. Bloody hell, when Death mentioned that there were things I was still needed for I didn’t fucking expect this. I didn’t expect to be thrown into the mess of the apocalypse or learn any of this. I didn’t expect this, and I don’t remember shit, I don’t know what you’re talking about, half of me thinks you made a bloody mistake!” his voice raises by the end of his rant, breathing hitching, “But everyone is fucking certain I’m the Archangels Creation. Those things in the diner, the demons wanted to use me as a bargaining tool, you and everyone else are certain and I’m not!” 

Thunder crashes right above the home, shaking the walls and Mitchell can feel Gabriel grab his arm being he’s being pulled into a side hug, the comfort and the sense of deja vu rushes through him. The warmth familiar and Mitchell winces slightly at the fact that Gabriel seemed like a lifelong friend, a brother and it scared him. He had been through wars, been through Herrick and his goons, faced ghosts and death countless times, he’s been tortured and staked and let those who he loved down but nothing peaks the amount of fear he feels now within the archangels arms. Despite his fear, Mitchell doesn’t say anything else, simply trying to get his anger under control. 

“I was astonished when I felt your presence again on earth, I saw that you were with the Winchesters and I didn’t get closer because I didn’t want to believe it, I didn’t believe it until the brightness and warmth that radiated from you hit me. There were some dark spots, some inner demons that plagued you but you’re still fucking bright, as bright as the Morning Star. You don’t have to believe it, you never have to.” 

“Thats a bloody lie. I have to believe it because everything is fucking pointing to that. There’s something I have to do that fucking deals with the whole Archangel Creation bullshit because this is my second chance. This is what Death was talking about, and the apocalypse is happening and your fucking dad won’t do shit about it, he wants a damn fight. Your brothers want a fucking fight and its going to result in thousands of people dying.” 

There’s silence, and Mitchell shuts his eyes close tightly. He didn’t want to deal with this, he wanted to rest, to die and just deal with whatever his afterlife would be considering he’s had a taste of both good and bad but he didn’t have a choice.This was obviously what he needed to fucking do, that the reason he wasn’t gone and dead was because the apocalypse was the one thing that he had to deal with, he had to deal with all of it, not for himself but for the people that were still living, for George, Nina, their child and Annie, for the Winchesters. Mitchell didn’t get the right to rest just yet. 

“I don’t want to deal with this. I was good as dead when George staked me, but I’m still fucking needed. I don’t have the right to ignore this, and whatever the fuck is going on I’m a part of it.” 

Fate had made its plans, sending him down a path that he had to finish while giving him no choice in the matter. This was something that he had to do, that he had to finish no matter how exhausted he was,there were people out there dying, suffering and Mitchell had the knowledge of it, he couldn’t turn away from that. A whispering thought prodded at his mind, questioning why he couldn’t just leave, to forget like gabriel had mentioned and go live his life away from all of this and the urge to follow that whisper was strong but his mind was already made. He had done such horrible things in his life, he had killed many and hurt so many people whose lives would be ruined because of him...the least he could do was keep fighting and make the world a little better and safe. God might not care, but Mitchell did. 

“You saved me from the diner, what happened to Dean and Sam?” He questions, worried for his friends but he also needed to know what he was getting into when he got back. If they were in danger than he needed to be ready for a fight, to be able to help them and he turns to look at Gabriel once more, brow raised at the look he was getting from the Archangel, the calculating expression. “Gabriel?” 

“I can tell that you’re tired, exhausted...but you keep fighting, for people who don’t care about you.” 

He’s surprised at the statement, before he’s glaring, “I can be exhausted all I fucking want, but I don’t deserve rest, I don’t deserve to just give up! I might not have a lot of people who care about me but I deserve that, the shit I’ve done I’m not surprised but that doesn’t mean I can just turn my fucking head at all of this! I live on this damn planet, I don’t want it destroyed!” 

He shifts, Clover meowing in protest forcing him to still once more. “Dean and Sam are with a group that saved them. They’re doing their own thing…they’ll be fine. You went through quite some damage.” 

At the mention of his friends Mitchell nods his head slightly, still not wanting to be gone from too long but he stays where he was, the peace luring him to stay. He isn’t sure if he even could leave considering he was sitting here yapping with an angel of the lord, Gabriel could keep him here if he wanted too for however long. That thought didn’t put him fully in the peaceful moment that he was in earlier. 

“That wasn’t so bad, been through worse. How long are we gonna be in my subconscious?” 

“A while, as I said you took a lot of damage, your body is trying to heal itself, even with my help I can only do so much. You retreated to your happy place..here.” 

“How bad was it that I retreated here?” 

Gabriel falls silent there, nothing coming from the archangel for the longest time and Mitchell can feel his skin crawl at the lack of explanation. It couldn’t have been that bad, sure, his leg was probably buggered, his ribs bruised and maybe he’d have a concussion from smacking his head against the ground with some scrapes and bruises but nothing that would require this long in his subconscious, nothing that should require the silence of an angel that had supposedly healed him. He turns to stare at his company, eyes narrowing slightly. 

“Physically? Nothing horrible, you’re healed in that term, but...your grace was damaged.” 

“My grace?” he’s confused, incredulous at the mention of it.

“Angels and Archangels have grace, it’s what makes us..us. I’m not the best at explaining it that was more...Raphaels talent but your grace isn’t fully formed, which is weird...never seen anything like that before, probably because of your human soul but uh the little amount you had wasn’t great.” Mitchell doesn’t miss the worried, perhaps disturbed tone and he can feel himself wince slightly, “The stress hasn’t been helping which is why your mind and grace shifts to this place, a defense mechanism for your human soul and a time to allow your grace to grow without...making you exhausted.” 

He sits there, listening to everything that Gabriel was saying emotions swirling around his head, the new found knowledge sending his heart skipping in discomfort but he doesn’t say anything, simply sitting where he was silent as thunder and lightning cracked across the sky. He had grace, he had some sort of angelic thing growing within him, within his soul or however it worked and Mitchell felt himself grow tired. Could he even handle this? No. No he really couldn’t, after everything that had happened, why did he deserve this? He was a killer and yet here he was talking to an archangel when his faith had long since disappeared, features twist slightly but he doesn’t say anything. The two of them simply sitting there, and when his room flashed with a bright light on the wall behind him a shadowy wing was wrapped around his shadow. 

\---------

Warmth poured from the flames that licked at the nights sky, his attention on the burning pillar before him to celebrate the death of the man that they had left behind. How many people deserved to die because of them? Jo, Ellen, Ash...everyone was dead and gone because that they had the stupid luck of ever coming across their path. He stares watching the wood burn, angry that they didn’t have a body to burn, that whatever had happened in that stupid diner destroyed Mitchells body, destroyed everything. 

They couldn’t keep doing this. Avoiding the inevitable.

The apocalypse would happen, and they just had to accept that. 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

A month had passed since the accident at the diner, a month since he had seen Dean and Sam along with the other hunters that seem to radiate around the two brothers. He missed them, missed the stupid banters between everyone, the road and the strangers that they would meet along the way. Mitchell had found a routine that he could handle, a system that let him fly under the radar from classic humanity, a community that worked in the shadows saving people and hunting monsters that deserve to be put down when they harmed innocent people. A whisper of a voice told him that he was a hypocrite for thinking that, that he should have been out down finally for all the harm that he had managed to do but he ignores it, focusing on the angel before him. 

Gabriel had taken him in after the diner, refusing to let him leave until he was sure that Mitchell wouldn’t implode from the ever growing grace within him, sure that he was healed to what he should be and there was an inkling that perhaps the archangel wanted some company, was scared to lose something that once connected him to his brothers that wasn’t violence or anger. He couldn’t blame the guy for that and he wouldn’t considering the angel was keeping him safe, teaching him how to use his grace in the small amounts that he could use which was where they were right now. Trying to get Mitchell to create something that didn’t exist before hand, food or some candy like Gabriel kept producing in his demonstrations. 

“All you gotta do Mitchie is focus, imagine the candy and just let your grace do the rest. It’ll work for anything really.” Gabriel explained, fingers snapping as another chocolate bar materialized from thin air. 

“Easy for you to say, you’ve had years of fucking training. Now shut up and let me imagine this stupid candy.” Mitchell grumbled, mind picturing some random candy that he had the pleasure of tasting in Paris so long ago, willing it to appear and snapping his fingers just like Gabriel had done. Nothing happened. No candy or pastry appeared from thin air like it was expected to and shoulders slumped once more, annoyed that he couldn’t get the hang of it. Weeks had gone by with him trying to use his grace, weeks of Gabriel telling him that he’ll get the hang of it and it was starting to seem like he would never get the hang of it. 

“You’ll get it! I’m not the best teacher out there but you’ll get it!” Was the bright tone of the angel, mouth filled with the candy that he had magically appeared out of thin air and Mitchell just rolled his eyes, falling backwards to lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling of Gabriels small apartment that he seemed to have created or whatever he did to manage this place. Huffing he frowns, knowing that he needed to leave to make sure that his friends were alright, that they weren’t dead or doing anything fucking stupid with the looming apocalypse being in place. Shifting, Mitchell sat up once more, stretching his arms to let his joints pop in place, relief flashing through him, shoulders slumping as fingers tapped against his ankle. Teeth bit into his lip, stomach twisting as mind races with possible ways of approaching the conversation, he couldn’t keep hiding out with Gabriel, he was a part of this fight and the small vacation he took had long since passed its due date. 

“Do you know where the Winchester brothers are?” the question was out there, fingers curling slightly to dig into the fingerless gloves that had grown to become a comfort item for him, the wool scratchy keeping him grounded at times, “As much as I’ve enjoyed this, I gotta get back to them, the apocalypse is still drawing nearer.” he doesn’t realize he’s whispering the words but they were heard as the archangel stares at him than to ceiling with a shrug. Mitchell had a feeling that Gabriel wouldn’t want to answer, wouldn’t want him to leave but Mitchell didn’t have a choice. They both knew that and it was time that they addressed it. 

“There isn’t a point in stopping my brothers.” another excuse, another plea for him to stay and just let the inevitable happen to the world, the innocent beings that lived their life with no idea what the hell was happening. “Lucifer and Michael will fight. One of them will win and the other will die and there’s nothing! Nothing that can be done…” 

“So you’re just going to let thousands of people die. You’re going to let your family rip each other apart again? Fate isn’t a set fucking notion, things can change, and I can fucking bet to you that I am not hiding back and letting your brothers tantrum happen.” 

He’s standing, turning on his heel to storm towards the door, feet stomping as he drew nearer and nearer towards his way out of the fantasy that nothing was fucking wrong, and when he yanks the door open to leave, rattling hinges and wood as he slams the door close behind him Mitchell can feel his teeth grind seeing that was he standing in front of Gabriel once again, shifting to the door he opened it once more, seeing the hall that would lead to some rickity elevator that would be his escape. Narrowing his eyes, he took another step out into the hall only to be standing once more in the apartment, nose scrunches up, lips turning into a snarl as hands are thrown up. 

“So you’re gonna bloody keep me hostage now?!” he yells, uncaring for the neighbors knowing full well that Gabriel had this place soundproof and in some weird pocket dimension or whatever of his. It kept him hidden from any angels or demons when he wasn’t parading around like some trickster god from what Mitchell had been told. No one could hear them, no one would come and check on him or call the cops for a disturbance, hell, Gabriel had him stuck. 

“They’ll kill you. You don’t know how the fuck to protect yourself! What type of brother would I be if I let you go parading around with growing power to be killed by mortals, demons and our siblings!” was the excuse, something that Mitchell had been hearing for the last few days when he mentioned leaving, when he even brought up going back to join the fight. It was always something along the lines of him not being healed enough, that his grace was still struggling to sustain itself or that he wasn’t safe. 

He had enough of it. 

“I can’t protect myself? Gabriel, I have been surviving for more than a century! I fought in World War One for fucks sake, I know how to survive, more than anyone...there are innocent human beings out there with no fucking idea what the hell is happening, people who don’t know how to fight or survive...I don’t care about myself that much to hide away!” Shoulders hunch, finger jabbing at the archangel before him, “I have family out there! George, Annie, Nina! They don’t know about the apocalypse, they aren’t fucking safe...if anything I’m fighting for them! For Sam and Dean who don’t deserve this shit!” 

Silence rings forth, Mitchell turning to run his hands through his hair once more, trying to keep his anger from turning into something physical as Gabriel frowns softly at him, glancing down to his hands as if he was contemplating something, almost thinking of something that he could do that wouldn’t let the one good thing to come from the apocalypse to dampen and die out. There had been enough violence and Gabriel was sick of it. He wanted it to end and keep whatever remaining family he had from being slaughtered in the path of his family's bloodshed. Mitchell was one of the youngest that came before their father abandoned heaven, the last good thing that he had that connected him to his older brothers, his stomach twists, emotions that he had grown to understand over time parading around earth rose and Gabriel can feel fear rise higher. He could keep everyone that Mitchell cared for safe, bring them to some pocket dimension that nothing could touch them but he knew it wouldn’t be enough, that it wouldn’t stop Mitchell from throwing himself into a fight that wouldn’t be stopped. 

Anger rushes through him, an inkling of a thought whispering to him. No one wanted to stay with him, no one understood what would happen if they went against Michael and Lucifer. If Mitchell wanted to throw himself into danger for humanity, for the winchesters then he didn’t get the right to stop him from that. 

“And do you deserve to keep fighting for a world corrupt and filled with hatred Little Light? The Winchesters don’t have a choice, they will say yes and there is nothing that you can do to stop our brothers. This is a death wish.” 

One last plea. Let Mitchell understand that fate couldn’t be changed, that this wasn’t something that could be diverted from. 

“Then I'll die trying. This isn’t about me or the winchesters, this is about being brave enough to stand up for whats right.” 

Deans words echo within his mind, the hatred and anger when they found out that he wouldn’t stand against his brothers and kill one of them to stop this fight. That he was too scared to stand up against his family, and Gabriel can feel his chest tighten staring at his younger brother standing there defiantly, ready to take on this battle that would leave him broken and bruised. How many siblings of his would have to die, how many would turn their backs on each other and slaughter each other for a feud. He wasn’t their father, he couldn’t control his siblings and sadly enough he couldn’t keep them protected. 

Turning away from Mitchell, his fingers snap, scenery changing around them, the depths of Singers Automotive Scrap yard clear, the towering junk unwelcomed to him but he can see the pleasant surprise on his younger brothers features as he scanned the area. Maybe the Winchesters and Mitchell had the right idea, running from this wasn’t going to do anything, it wasn’t right to leave the world to the destruction of his brothers fight, to let Castiel or Mitchell, hell, any of his siblings be slaughtered for a battle that would prove nothing. It was just mindless destruction to see who was fathers favourite. He shoves his hands into his pocket, turning to stare up at the sky as if it would hold his answers, nothing was there but the blue that he had grown to love, the clouds that sailed through as if captains on a tide. 

He can sense Castiels presence, can feel the tension radiating from his brother and Gabriel turns to face him, Mitchell standing in the middle of them, turning to look at him than to Castiel. 

“Hey Casitel!” grin on features, arms stretching out wide as if there wasn’t a care in the world. As if he didn’t feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, the knowledge that those he cared for would die for a battle that they wouldn’t win. “How’s the apocalypse going?” 

“Gabriel, What are you doing here?” Castiels tone was gruff, but the hint of confusion and exhaustion was so clear to the older angel and his heart ached realizing that this was affecting his family much more than he thought. Castiel was always a strong angel, doing what was right, following the orders that was set out for him until he rebelled for two humans fighting against fate. 

“Came to drop off our younger brother, found him fighting in the schoolyard ya know, kids these days.” teasing, pretending that Mitchell hadn’t been hurt to the point that his grace was aching, that the growing light barely mirrored a fledglings grace with the violence that it had seen, the exhaustion and lack of care slowing down the growth that it sought. That everything was fine when it wasn’t. Brow raises seeing the fact that Castiel was surprised, staring at Mitchell like he hadn’t seen the brightness radiating from him, like he hadn’t noticed the growing grace. “You...You didn’t notice.” 

“It was not there when I happened to meet him, nor was it there when I had seen him last. If I had known I would have searched for him after the diner, or believed Sam when he asked about the Archangels Creation.” 

He stares, as if waiting for an explanation and Gabriel didn’t have one to share, so he shrugs, “I grabbed him from the diner after the winchesters ran from it, took him somewhere safe and I’ve been taking care of him..helping him heal and grow.” 

“You know I’m right here right? I can bloody hear you.” Shot Mitchell, arms crossing an annoyed expression flickering forth onto features. He was annoyed a lot it seemed, but Gabriel knew he had a good enough reason for it. “It doesn’t matter, whats been happening with the apocalypse.” 

Topic shifting away from the fact that Mitchell was barely in his fledgling years with how far his grace had come within the month that he had been staying with him, in the safety of the small pocket universe he created Gabriel frowns, arms crossing, waiting for Castiel to explain what had happening with the Winchesters in the time that Mitchell had been gone. There wasn’t a lot that had changed, demons and angels are more frequent, more itching for the chosen vessels to agree to the fight, hunts being more violent, many innocent people dying day by day. Nothing had changed truly, until the mention of another Winchester brother being brought back from the dead, another vessel for Michael that the angels found that would say yes. Silence rings from the three of them, a sinking realization hitting both Gabriel and Mitchell, that the apocalypse was a lot closer than they had anticipated, the fight edging closer with each passing day. 

“He isn’t going to say yes is he?” Mitchell questions, staring at the house with an expression that screamed worry but exhaustion, his grace flickering slightly as the stress grew, the exhaustion grasping for the brightness. Gabriel winces slightly at the sight. 

“Sam has been trying to dissuade him from agreeing. It has been working for the most part, we’ve been hiding him from the angels, Dean is close to his breaking point, he wants to say yes.” 

“The fuck he is! He can’t just give up, what about not letting fate control them! That the feathery assholes could stick it where the sun doesn't shine! We’re so close to stopping this thing I can feel it…” Mitchell cried out, anger rising and along it an iciness that seeped from his grace, chilling the air as the lights above them cracked and blew, sparks flying. Swiftly, Grabiel reaches for him, his own grace reaching out to gently prod at the iciness, warming it in an attempt to calm the other down, and he can see Mitchell snap his head towards him, confusion rushing over him but the iciness grows slightly as his fingers grasp at his arm. 

“Deep breaths Mitchie. Your grace is reacting to your emotions, deep breaths remember? Don’t wanna accidentally destroy Singers place.” Gabriel reminded him, his grin comforting, grace gently urging the other to calm and when the iciness faded slightly he retracks. “You’re getting better at feeling other peoples graces..” he added snickering at the middle finger being aimed at him until Castiel gets closer, brows furrowing. 

“His grace is that of a fledings Gabriel. He doesn’t have control of it, and his wings, i can’t see them.” 

“He has a human soul Castiel. His grace is trying to accommodate it, it’s growing and so will his wings in due time. Besides, you weren’t the best at controlling your grace when it was this young, he’ll get the hang of it in due time.” 

“Once again! I’m standing right here.” Mitchell barked, pulling away from his grasp before he’s storming towards the house, eyes narrowing. Castiel shooting him a look before he’s following after Mitchell, and Gabriel sighs before doing the same incase anything happened, he was in this now it seemed. 

\-----

They’re sitting in the kitchen, books and papers scattered everywhere in desperate searching for something that would stop the apocalypse, Adam flipping through a book barely paying any attention to it, Dean nursing a beer with his thoughts elsewhere considering he was on the same page he had been for the last hour, Bobby was in his office grabbing some more of his books and he was shifting through his own book. There had to be something that would stop everything, something that they hadn’t found or read yet, both his brothers wanted to say yes. Adam was brought back from the dead to do so since the angels moved on from Dean, he had been bargained with something to do so and Sam struggled with explaining that the angels weren’t to be trusted outside of Castiel and Balthazar wherever he was, that they were douchebags just like every other monster out there while Dean was on the path of self destruction. 

Nothing was looking up in their favor, Castiel having disappeared about twenty minutes ago with no warning, with no explanation leaving them in tense silence so when the door slammed open, he wasn’t surprised when everyone jumped. Adam shooting his head up to stare at the back door, Dean having grabbed a gun that he kept on him and he had stood up incase he needed to tackle someone but who stood in the door sent him reeling. 

“Mitchell? Gabriel...What?” he whispered softly, eyes wide as a sense of confusion rushed through him, confusion but relief. Mitchell didn’t perish in the diner, he was standing here, despite the furious expression flashing across his features. Sam could see Dean lower his gun, eyes wide before he’s moving from the table to cautiously walk towards the irish man, shooting a look towards Castiel who nodded. An indication that this was really Mitchell and not some trick. 

“You better not fucking say yes you arse! We haven’t been fighting this whole damn time for you to give up like this you asshole!” irish accent thick, anger clear but it wasn’t finished as Mitchell was brought tightly into a hug by the older winchester, the guilt that Dean had been feeling seemingly lowered before his own anger set in. 

“Where the fuck were you! We thought you were dead!!” raised yelling, Mitchell being shoved back and he swiftly stood to get in between Dean, to stop the fist that would for sure follow. Mitchell being caught by Gabriel whose eyes flashed dangerously. “We had a funeral and fucking everything! A month! You’ve been gone for a fucking month!” 

Sam watches Mitchell open his mouth to retort, to try and soothe anger but its Gabriel who speaks first, “He was almost dead, that much strain and stress wasn’t doing anything for him, surprised he wasn’t dead by the time I hopped in to grab him. I’ve been keeping him safe, don’t you get angry with him.” 

“You saved him?Thought you didn’t want shit to do with the apocalypse?”

“I was helping my baby brother, I wasn’t going to let him waste away like that….” 

“Baby brother...he’s a fucking angel! You never fucking told us!” 

Mitchell winced, Sam could see how uncomfortable was becoming, from the avoiding eyes, hunched shoulders as if he didn’t want to realize any of that. Eyes widen, “He didn’t know...did he.” 

Everyone went silent at that, Dean frowning at him as if he was confused, but Mitchell silently glanced at him with exhaustion clear on his features. Sam knew that look, felt what that meant and when Mitchell spoke Sam felt sympathy. 

“I didn’t know. When we went to heaven was the first I heard of it...but I didn’t believe it, then everyone else seemed to know but me until Gabriel...Gabriel explained and I’ve been...noticing things, witnessing things...and I didn’t know okay?” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Just wanted to share that I do have tumble if you want to ask questions or see some of my art, you can find it at TwistedKili on tumblr! Also, sorry for taking so long to get this one out, it took a bit longer than I expected and I'm still not a hundred percent happy with this chapter!


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